Sound Advice (Sensations Collection #1) (10 page)

“Light reading?” He actually smiled, and that chiseled face looked playful and dangerous, in a good way. But I was too distracted by my findings to concentrate for long on Jess’ natural good looks.

“Jess, this is it. Sign language.”

His smile faded.

“Jess, you could teach Katie sign language. Then you wouldn’t have to guess her meaning.”

“No.”

“Why not?” My eyebrows pinched together as I glared at him.

“And I never said I had to guess at her meaning,” he added, defending himself. I ignored his bitter tone.

“This is what sign language is all about. Communication. If you two learned it and maybe her teacher, she could at least communicate her wants and needs…and emotions.”

“We don’t need this. We’re doing just fine.”

“Jess, don’t you want to be more than just fine?”

“You mean
better
, like you.” He had his arms crossed now as he leaned against the shelving unit. His voice was rising and someone else walked down the stairs, giving us a stern look to quiet before returning up the staircase. Jess grabbed my arm and pulled me closer to the wall at the end of the stack. His hard grip also pulled me closer to him.

“Jesus, you’re so pushy,” I responded, trying to pull my arms out of his grasp, and in several flailing motions ended up with my own hands on his upper arms. The book was now wedged between us and I knew the hardcover was all that separated my breasts from brushing up against his chest. I was hyper-aware of my sweating skin tingling from his touch and my clammy hands gripping his muscular arms. My heart raced, and my running tank was pushed up in a way that everything squeezed together, forcing it outward at Jess.

“No, I don’t mean
better
like me. I mean
better
, period. In life. Do it for Katie?”

“Don’t tell me what to do with my daughter. You know nothing about us. Me or her. You don’t even have children.”

I felt like he’d slapped me. As if any woman in her twenties, who was single, was not unaware that she did not have children. There was a reminder every time I called my sister who had almost four, and she wasn’t even thirty yet. There was a reminder each time Nana asked about my love life. And there was a reminder each time I looked at Katie.

I released my grip on Jess’ arms and grabbed the book as it slid between us. In a move I would never take with a precious book, I threw it back toward the bottom shelf.

“You’re right, Jess,” I said and walked away.

“Emily, I’m….” but I didn’t hear the rest as I climbed the stairs two at a time. Reaching the top of the steps, I immediately went to the counter to check out my books concerning Nana’s dementia. As I waited to check out, Katie walked up to me with a newer version of
The Little Mermaid
.

“Hey, Katie. What do you have there?” I took the book she held out to me. “Oh, I love this story too. Have you read it before?”

Silence, but she nodded

“Are you waiting for story time or something?” There seemed to be more kids in the children’s department as I looked around for a librarian. I was slowly becoming aware of people watching me talk to Katie Carter, and I was also self-conscious as to how this scene looked – a strange, sweaty woman in a tank top and bright orange shorts with her hair slicked back in a ponytail talking to the town mute. When I looked up, nosy onlookers turned away.

“Would you like me to read this to you?”

Katie nodded again.

I walked her over to an area in adult fiction where there was a table with four chairs. I pointed to a chair for her and we sat down together. I read the story of a young mermaid who defies her father and heads to the surface of the ocean to see a young man. Eventually the girl trades her most valuable asset, her singing voice, for legs so she can meet this prince. When he finds the mermaid washed up on the shore, she has legs, but no voice to communicate. Eventually the sea witch, who stole the mermaid’s voice, uses a potion to change her own appearance and takes the beautiful voice as her own.

I froze on this page, staring at the picture of a second beautiful woman with an evil appearance gazing at the handsome prince. He had been fooled and the beautiful mermaid princess watches in horror from the corner.

“Katie, did an evil witch steal your beautiful voice?” I whispered.

“That’s enough.” Jess’ voice bombed at me from where he lounged on the other side of the table. I could see the muscles and veins in his arms flexing, his jaw clenching tightly, but I pushed onward with one more question.

“Did she cast a spell on you?”

Jess reached across the table and swiped the book out of our hands as we held the book jointly. He looked down at the picture on the page, a picture I was sure he had seen several times before and yet never really observed. Jess glanced up at me with solid blue eyes as Katie’s nodded.

“Mr. Carter, is everything okay over here?” The concerned librarian asked, curious who was making all the noise in the corner.

“Yes, we’re fine,” he answered without taking his eyes off of me. “Do you have any books for children on sign language?”

One never knows when the wind blows, but weather can be predicted and in the case of rain, outerwear protection is a must. A lady should never be caught without an umbrella.

“Matters of Manners,” 1958

JESS ALLOWED ME to help him present the sign language book to Katie. He was hesitantly awkward at first and eventually let me take over the introduction. I babbled about how I liked to talk, but I wanted to hear Katie, and one way to do that without her having to speak would be with signs made by her hands.

Although Katie did not refuse to learn, the locations we chose at first were too distracting. Jess and I agreed to meet the next day at the library, but there were too many people coming in and out and Katie would not do the motions with curious observers. Another day, we met in the courtyard behind the pizza parlor, but we lost Katie’s interest again when lunchtime arrived. We decided to try the park after lunch where I wrote letters on a pad of paper, but Katie wouldn’t sign. Jess’ frustration grew and he growled, “This isn’t working” several times under his breath. Finally, I suggested some place more familiar. I knew Jess needed to work at Sound Systems and I wanted my grandmother’s radio repaired, so I recommended we try to learn there. I also hinted that our lessons should be on a schedule. This was a recommendation made by my sister.

“Kids like a routine,” Rosie had said on the phone the night before as I laid out the whole scene in the library. “Make it more like school or camp. One half-hour or one hour a day, every day.” I was surprised that Jess accepted my suggestions at all. He was easily frustrated.

“This isn’t working and I don’t like to force it. I don’t want her to think she’s stupid.”

“She won’t think she’s stupid unless you act like she is. You have to be positive about this. Make her feel special, unique. This is communication between you and her,” I reminded him.

“Then where do you fit in?” Jess barked.

Without thinking about it, I responded playfully. “Where ever you want me to fit.” I immediately regretted my words and sucked in a breath, shocked at myself for such a bold, flirtatious comment. Thank goodness he laughed.

“Really,” he replied with a sly smile, and that combination of playful and dangerous tickled my skin.

The first meeting at the shop was a success. We sat at Katie’s play table in the corner while Jess went to work behind the counter. His ears were listening, but his hands were focused on dismantling Nana’s radio. Instead of working on the alphabet, I decided to begin with practical signs. As Katie and I played kitchen and restaurant, I asked Katie to respond to me with
Thank you
and
No, thank you
and
You’re welcome
using her hands in the appropriate manner. A half hour went fast and when I glanced over at Jess, his hands were placed on the table and he was watching our interaction.

“I think that’s all for today. Katie, can I come play tomorrow?”

Silence, but Katie nodded yes.

“Thank you,” I said and signed to Katie.

Katie signed
you’re welcome
with a big smile on her face.

Proudly, I walked over to the counter.

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Jess hesitated. “Emily? Thank you.” Awkwardly, he tried the sign and let his eyes drift in the direction of his daughter before looking back at me.

I signed
You’re welcome
with a knowing smile on my face.

I SPENT THE next couple of days in the same routine. Every day I walked to the repair shop, worked with Katie for almost an hour, and walked back to Nana’s. At Nana’s, I gardened, repaired the chopped off flowers, and laid down mulch to ease the constant job of weeding. I had the first floor cleaned to a point of only needing a light dusting and vacuuming. Moving up the stairs, I started with my mother’s old room by cleaning the curtains, bed linens, and a threadbare rug. Spending time in my mother’s room brought back a flood of memories.

My mother was a difficult woman to please. She had been severely disappointed when her marriage failed and she’d held a grudge against my father for too long. Ironically, his last name was Post, and my grandfather liked to joke that he expected a man with such a name to be more stable. I wasn’t sure what names had to do with character, but then again I was named after my grandmother’s idol, Emily Post, because her daughter married a man with the honored last name.

Being in my mother’s room was a reminder of her final days. Breast cancer took her when she was too young, and I was too young as well to have lost her. Twelve is a terrible age to lose a mother. Her loss was felt not only by Rosie and me, of course, but by her own mother, our Nana. I owed Nana everything because of this death. She’d given up many things so I wouldn’t have to be uprooted after such a tragedy. “To have a normal life, like your mother planned,” Nana would say, knowing that our mother dreaded her small town upbringing. I would resent my mother’s plan for me at times, because my plan was for my mother to be present. But I couldn’t fight with an evil killer like cancer.

Nana seemed to be better with a routine as well. I took her to her hair appointment on Saturdays. We went to the grocery store on Wednesdays and church on Sundays. Ladies’ Circle was Monday evenings and we had dinner with Sue Carpenter on Thursdays. The outings and rituals kept Nana more focused, and her questions and comments about my grandfather seemed to diminish.

I also spent time finding more gestures in the sign language book to teach Katie. She was learning fast, but thinking of the English vocabulary she needed to learn overwhelmed me. There were so many words I was convinced Katie knew, and I even added an element to our daily meetings of playing school, which included practicing spelling words that a six year old should know before first grade. I still kept things simple and we worked on phrases to help Katie communicate with the outside world.

Jess had contacted the first grade teacher who agreed to learn the language as well, and told Jess about a special education teacher who could provide Katie instruction twice a week to help her keep up with first grade curriculum and the sign language to coordinate. Jess was hesitant to use the signs at first, but the first time Katie responded to Jess, a sense of relief seemed to wash over his body. He admitted that Katie was using the book at home to teach his mother signs as well. Katie would do the sign and her grandmother would repeat the word with the appropriate sign that Katie pointed to in the book. I had to order five extra books online since the library only had one. We needed a copy for the teacher, Katie’s grandmother, Katie, Jess, and me.

Thankfully, my editor had been sympathetic of Nana’s situation and receptive to my working from up here, so amidst all of this, I had to write articles for
Chicago Travels
and submit them on my regular deadline for the late summer addition. The theme was small town festivals and Elk Rapids had one coming up in a few weeks. I was able to interview the mayor via phone, email the chairperson of the Elk Rapids Harbor Days, and speak with the librarian on the history of the festival, the events during the week, and the significance of the festival to the town. My editor was satisfied with the idea, even though I proposed only one town for the article with a supplemental list of other similar events in August. I had become a machine working on autopilot mode.